The Reunion
by notimeatall
Summary: When an unwanted guest appears at Sherlock's door, will he have the strength to deal with the man who ruined his life? Or will his emotions finally take control, my first Sherlock fanfic please r and r
1. Chapter 1

It had been some time since John had spoken to Sherlock in person. There had been numerous text messages sent between them but only ever to arrange details about their belongings or a simple message to ensure that the other was alright. John knew that Sherlock did still care about him and that he was sorry for the way he had treated Hannah, so he always answered the messages pleasantly and asked after cases he had heard Sherlock was working on. Even so he had promised Hannah that he would no longer be involved with Sherlock and his cases and he was determined to stick to his promise no matter how lonely he was. And John was lonely. He had friends now, a social life, his wonderful fiancé and even a new dog to keep him occupied, not to mention his almost full time job at the surgery. But the dullness of routine and normal life was eating away at him; he knew it and worried about it. Hannah too, could see that John was not the man he used to be. She would often watch him sigh as he dressed for work or silently collected his things to play rugby with his friends. She tried to push away the fact that she felt guilty and carried on as normal. But eventually, after a day in March spent at home, thinking about the secret she held and about how honest John was with her, she knew she could not do it any longer.

"John" she started awkwardly as he slumped down onto the sofa beside her, that evening "I need to talk to you" in a second he had sat bolt upright, took her hands and looked worriedly into her eyes

"What's wrong" he asked

"I've not been entirely honest with you John and I need to tell you something" she stared at the ground as she spoke. "It's about Sherlock Holmes"

John said nothing but continued his gaze without blinking "I saw him, just before I came to you to ask you to come back to me. He came round to my house, with flowers and an apology. He talked about you, and how you were so different when you were with me or thinking about me and that he had been jealous. He admitted to taking your phone to write those messages to me and said that he knew I was special to you"

"He said that" John asked, he couldn't believe what he was hearing

"Yes, John he told me that even if I couldn't forgive him he wanted me to forgive you and try again, even if that meant him being totally out of the picture. That was why I made it one of the conditions of us getting back together. I'm sorry I should have told you"

John sat, slightly dazed on the sofa. Sherlock had admitted his mistake and apologised! The thought cut deep into John as he knew how hard that was for Sherlock. And it hadn't been for himself either, only for John. He had a sudden urge to see Sherlock once more and for things to be as they had always been.

"If you want to" Hannah said quietly "I have nothing against you seeing Sherlock again, I can see how unhappy you are without him"

"No, I'm not going to do anything that will make you unhappy" John answered steadily

"This is will make me happy" Hannah said with a small smile "go and phone him up and see what can be made of the mess I've made"

"This isn't your mess" John told her. He looked at her lovingly and smiled "thank you for telling me, and for this. I do miss him, but I can't see him just yet. He hurt me too, I need to think about what I'll say" and that was the last they spoke of the matter for three days until at last Sherlock was thrust back into John's life at a whirlwind speed he could have never anticipated.

It was early Thursday evening when Mycroft Holmes descended upon John's home. John hadn't been so shocked since Sherlock had turned up on his doorstep to after he had thrown himself off a building. For a moment Mycroft simply stood there, looking at the astonished faces before him and wondering whether or not to ask Hannah to leave. Finally he surmised that there had been enough prejudice against John's fiancé and that she had a right to know as much as her future husband.

"John" he began simply, taking a seat opposite the couple "I need you"

"What on earth could you need me for" John asked shaking his head slightly "I'm not in close contact with your brother any more and I certainly don't have any contacts of …"

"Never mind all that, I need you to help Sherlock" Mycroft answered deliberately "it is not like you to hold a grudge John and certainly not for so long. Forgive him, he needs you"

"Well if he needs me" John said "he knows where to find me, we do still talk. And I have forgiven him actually; I'm not holding a grudge, I just..."

"Then you wont mind will you" Mycroft cut in "Sherlock will not contact you about this, he doesn't know yet that he needs you and probably wont know until it's too late. Therefore I've come to ask you personally to step across to Baker Street to assist him"

"Look" John retorted "we decided, both of us, me and Sherlock decided that I wouldn't be helping on any more cases"

"A case?" Mycroft answered incredulously "do you think I am here to ask you to help with one of his petty trivia's. John he needs, you as a friend, he can't cope with the message I need to send him and I need you to be there with him" Mycroft took his phone out of his pocket and looked across at John. John's face still showed deep confusion, Mycroft sighed

"His father came to see me today"

"And?"

"Surely he has told you about his father" Mycroft said in surprise, this was not the response he had been expecting.

"Not a word" replied John "all I know of his childhood is this, um, he was away at boarding school a lot, your mum was very ill, bedridden, in fact for the last fifteen years of her life. You basically brought Sherlock up, and… well he didn't rate your parenting skills much. I simply assumed that dad had always been out of the picture"

Mycroft gave a small laugh and nodded his head

"The general summing up of Sherlock Holmes" he replied with a small smile "Most of that is true John, although Dad was very much in the picture. In fact he took on most of the care for Mummy, but he had vices, as all tried men do. He began to sleep around, it was inevitable I suppose but we knew what affect it would have on Mummy so I said nothing to her. Sherlock on the other hand, well, he has always had a rather direct way of putting things and seemed to lack subtlety and tact. He could see whenever there had been a one night stand or short term affair and rather than ask Dad to stop he would go and tell Mummy. This caused her great distress and affected her badly. We used to argue over it a lot and my father would get very angry with Sherlock. I had seen them come to blows over the matter once or twice, but both were capable of taking care of themselves so I didn't let it bother me. Then finally, out of nowhere, there was two weeks of peace. Sherlock seemed calm and made no protest against Dad when he went out yet again to find a woman. I was beginning to think that he had come to accept it. That was the day Sherlock didn't come home. It was nothing unusual in itself, Sherlock had taken to staying out all night recently and we were not worried. He sent a text to us the evening of the following day saying he didn't know when he would be back but that it shouldn't be too long. Then on the evening of the fourth day he turned up back home, looking horrendous. He told us a story I simply couldn't believe"

"Which was" John cut in, eager to know the details yet feeling a sense of anger growing inside him. Mycroft sighed and leant back in his chair

"Sherlock said that his dad had been seeing his girlfriend and that he had seen them. Well, what could he have hoped I would think? Sherlock had never had a girlfriend in his life. He then said his father had turned on him when he confronted him, beat him severely and put him in the boot of his car." Mycroft stopped at this point and glanced up at John's confused face.

"He said he kept him there for three days, then took him to another part of town and left him there with a warning that no one would believe him if he told the truth and he was better off staying out of it completely. Again I could not believe it, Sherlock had texted me earlier in the week when he was supposedly in the car boot. We had a huge argument and Sherlock disappeared again. I tracked him down after a couple of years and found him, addicted to cocaine, throwing his life away in some squalid part of town. But he managed, with a little unnoticed help from me, to pull himself out of that stage and become successful. He has, of course, never forgiven me"

John was shocked by the story but he did not show it, this was not the time for laying blame and arguing. Sherlock was going to need help

"So what now" he asked quietly, staring at Mycroft's face of ice.

"Well as I said Dad came to see me and told me he needed Sherlock's help. He also said he knew Sherlock would never help and that he would need me to persuade him. It was the way he said it John, the guilt was so evident there that I knew, I knew at least part of Sherlock's story was true. I am going to let him know what has happened, if you will go round, say I have explained and just be there for him, can you do that?"

John nodded his head and smiled, all worries about his normal life had evaporated and he felt back where he should be.

"Text him now" he said standing up "I'm on my way"


	2. Chapter 2

The music that Sherlock produced when he was in a good mood was surely a wonderful thing to hear. People in the street would pause for a moment and look pleasantly up at the open window where he was accustomed to stand, surprised and pleased by what they heard. However when the black mood was on him he often made no sound save for a terrible scraping that was enough to drive Mrs Hudson mad or at least out of the house for a considerable length of time.. Today was no exception; the quick resolution of the case had left him empty and unsatisfied. He had been so sure that there was more to the suicide than the police had thought but without any evidence, he could do nothing more. So he retreated to his violin, creating sounds of the feelings that groaned inside him. Sherlock let his mind wander toward John and smiled slightly, he was sure that the case would have confused him entirely. He missed his companion though it gave him an unusual calm to know he was happy and safe. Sherlock hadn't taken any notice of Mrs Hudson as she shouted up to him to keep the racket down, didn't really take much notice of anything until his phoned beeped loudly half an hour later. Sherlock sighed and put his violin back in its case, he knew that he was brooding over nothing but the boredom that had begun to set in was enough to drive him out of his mind. Snatching up his phone, he decided that he would probably phone Lestrade later and see what he had for him. Any case was better than no case. All thoughts of this were swiftly put from his mind however as he looked at his text. For a start, the text was from Mycroft, 'unusual for the man who apparently hates texting under any circumstance!' he thought with a hint of sarcasm. Opening the text Sherlock felt the breath catch in his mouth and old, long forgotten emotions broke through their barriers and attacked the cold mind of the detective. He nearly dropped the phone in shock and moved backward so that he could feel the support of the wall behind him.

Father has been to visit me. Wants my help with a problem he has.

He told me he really wanted to consult you but didn't know how

you would react. We should talk. Phone me when you can

M

Sherlock stood still for a moment and simply breathed, 'don't think' he told himself 'how could this be happening' 'No, no don't think' but this was far easier said than done 'no way. There was no way that man could simply walk back into his life and demand his help'. Anger burnt inside him, growing stronger with every breath. 'And why did Mycroft want to talk, could it be that now, after all these years he has finally deduced something that has lead him to the truth, no don't, don't think.' Sherlock made to move to the sofa but his legs would not carry him and instead sat him down, shaking, on the carpet. Sherlock was a little surprised at his body's reaction but he surmised it must have been the shock and that it would pass. He would then get to the sofa, he reasoned pragmatically, find and use the solution hidden in the inner lining of the sofa and force the memories and emotions back to where he had hidden them for so long.

It seemed like a good plan and gave Sherlock the strength to stand from the ground. Already the anger and hurt had subsided now that he thought only of the cocaine bottle stashed neatly in the furniture. He calmly took up his jack knife from the mantelpiece and pulled the sofa out, away from the wall. Sherlock knelt, knife in hand as he heard the doorbell ring. He paused, listening intently; maybe he would not need the solution after all. The feet on the stairs were not fast, they were even a little hesitant, purposeful though and heavy. It wasn't until the door was beginning to open that Sherlock remembered he had the knife still in his hand. It was this fact and not Sherlock's horrified face that stopped the man in the door from entering. He stood now, looking warily at the knife and not at the man who reeled in front of him, for surely Sherlock Holmes had recoiled in shock as he had seen who was there. Sherlock simply stared for what seemed like an hour before the torrent of emotions suddenly burst their cages and engulfed him. He had moments to retreat to the kitchen and slam the door before he was wreck of a man, trembling all over and forcing back in vain the angry tears that stung his eyes. The fact that his father was probably able to hear his ragged, painful breaths made it even more unbearable. He leant, face first against the door, his whole body pressed so as to prevent an entrance. Sherlock shook his head; eyes closed, and willed the situation to go away completely. He knew he was not strong enough to deal with this. All memories of his child hood swam back through his mind and he shook his head fiercely to rid his mind of them. Then the memories of what that man had done to him came and clouded his vision. The hurt and anger seared through him and it was all he could do not to cry out. He wanted John, knew that he would have been right here beside him, helping him to cope, helping him to remove the man but John was not here, and there was no way to get him here without explaining completely, and right now he felt totally unable to do that. So instead, reaching for his phone he replied to the text he had received earlier.

He's here. Come now, I don't

know what I might do

S.H

Send

Sherlock watched in a semi daze the pictures on the screen that sent for help from the only person who could

Sent

The sound of the beep brought some clarity to the situation. Sherlock stood up straight and adjusted his collar. He took a deep breath and dropping the knife he opened the door quickly and walked back into the room. The man, who had stood so cautiously in the door way, now sat calmly in Sherlock's chair. He glanced up casually as Sherlock entered and gave a small self satisfied smile. Suddenly Sherlock wished he had never left the kitchen.

"Well that's better" said the voice quietly "I find it so hard to talk through solid wood"

"Get out" Sherlock replied, surprising himself at the coolness and calmness of his own voice. He walked over to the doorway and opened it widely, then walked over to where his violin case lay. As he bent to pick it up he heard the familiar sound echo out behind him. Sherlock felt a fresh wave of anger surge through him as he turned to see his father playing his beloved instrument

"Come on now Sherlock" the man said, standing up as he played "I can't possibly go yet, you haven't heard what I have to say"

"Get out" Sherlock repeated, his voice not betraying his emotions for a second. In fact his cold mind flicked expertly over now and he brushed the anger aside with ease. He stepped across to his desk and retrieved his revolver. At the click his father stopped the merry tune he had been playing and paled a little. He put down the instrument and turned to look at his son. Sherlock stood with his arm outstretched, his face was flint, composed. His eyes however flashed with the anger that not even he could see. He was pleased to see that finally he was commanding some sort of respectful attention from his father. "now"

"Sherlock" the man started "don't be a fool" Sherlock almost laughed to see the fear in his father's eyes and began to advance slightly

"How am I the fool" he answered quietly, his eyes fixed on his target "you are the one electing to stay and be shot when you're free to go"

"You're not going to kill me" the man said with an air of finality in his voice "so put down the gun and talk to me"

"I don't want to talk to you" spat Sherlock, his anger sparking once again and he moved forward even further. This last movement seemed to knock the bravado of the older man and he sat now, looking at his son with uncertainty in his eyes. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you" Sherlock asked, almost lightly, eyes fixed rigidly on the man in the chair.

"Well for a start you'd go to jail…" began the man simply

"Self defence" answered Sherlock sharply "besides I have contacts, and it isn't really a mean feat for me to cover it up. Next reason"

"Sherlock" the man in the chair replied, irritated but clearly showing the fear "I'm your father for goodness sake"

"And" Sherlock shouted, his anger bursting through "that never mattered before, did it. Why should it matter now?"

"Look, Sherlock, listen to me…"

"Next reason" Sherlock said coldly "or are you through"

"This is insane"

"Fine, goodbye then Mr Holmes, thanks for popping by"

"Sherlock!"

John's voice rang out, halting the detective's hand. For a moment it was as though someone had thrown a bucket of water over him. He stood shocked and breathless as he realised he had been about to shoot a man. Turning now to John, Sherlock could feel the tremor that ran through his body. It frightened him, scared him how out of control he could be. Even now though, he didn't move, didn't lower the weapon from its target.


	3. Chapter 3

As John had approached the flat, a feeling of dread began to creep over him. What if, when he saw Sherlock again he was bombarded by those angry, bitter thoughts once more, what if he had removed himself from Sherlock too much to be able to sit and listen to his sob story? Sherlock had never been too keen to listen to any of his problems after all. As he approached, John had been sure he had heard that damned violin playing again but now as he pushed open the door, there was nothing. As John ascended the stairs, he heard raised voices coming from the living room and quickened his pace. The door stood wide open and through the doorway John could see the figure of Sherlock Holmes, standing poised with his gun in his hand, aimed directly at an unarmed gentleman in the chair.

"This is insane" the older man had cried out, in nothing short of panic

"Fine" Sherlock had replied with venom in his voice "goodbye then Mr Holmes, thanks for popping by"

"Sherlock!"

John's voice seemed to have brought the detective to his senses. He stood now, looking bewildered and afraid. Not the correct state of mind to be holding a gun in, John surmised.

With this in mind, John walked slowly over to his friend, glancing slightly toward the man in the chair, and quietly removed the gun from Sherlock's hand. He could feel Sherlock's whole body tremble as he touched him and gently took him by the shoulders back toward the sofa. John noted that it had been pulled away and was able to finally realise where the secret supply of drugs had been hidden.

"Sherlock" he started quietly "you're a mess, what the hell have you taken, surely this was going to be hard enough without drugs"

"Oh is that what it is" the man from the chair stood now, his composure restored by the removable of the gun "and there was me thinking you were actually displaying some sort of emotion, when really it was…, ok, ok" he finished with hands in the air as Sherlock snatched the gun back from John and aimed it at the man.

"You have got no idea what I am feeling" Sherlock snarled at the man across the room "I've taken nothing" he shot at John "so just stay out of this"

"No, give me the gun" John replied firmly, closing his hands around the weapon and positioning himself between the gun and the target. "Sherlock"

Once again it was John's cool, calm eyes that stopped Sherlock and brought him back. Sherlock fought against the urge to break down and took a deep, steadying breath. He handed over his gun and walked over to the chair opposite his father.

The man nodded at John and turned to Sherlock, only to receive a fist straight to his face. Sherlock had let everything come out in one punch and he ignored the pain in his hand as he watched the older man go sprawling back into his chair with a scream. John crossed the room in a moment as Sherlock picked the man from the chair and threw him to the ground with a snort of contempt.

"That's my chair" he said angrily and seated himself, curled up on the arm chair, eyes now fixed on the open door way as he heard the sound of familiar footsteps.

In a moment Mycroft Holmes had appeared on scene. He stood for a moment to absorb it all. His brother sat, eyes on him, in his chair, deathly pale and shaking. John was beside him, hand on neck looking as confused as any man ever was, and his father, lying on the floor, holding a broken nose and whimpering.

"Afternoon" he said finally, stepping over the old man on the floor and sitting in

John's chair "didn't kill him then?" he asked, raising an eye brow to his younger brother

"Mrs Hudson would murder me in my bed if I stained her walls and carpet with brain"

"Yeah" John replied quickly "not sure she's gonna be too happy about the blood as it is, Come on" he continued, picking up the old man and leading him to the sofa "sit up here for a minute"

As John turned back to Sherlock he could see the panic and restlessness in his eyes. He had only seen it once before, in that little pub in Dartmoor, after Sherlock had seen the hound. Now he sat there again, fighting away the fear and emotion. Mycroft surveyed his brother with the air of one checking over a serious head wound, a mixture of empathy, horror and worry. Finally though he composed his face and turned to smile at John.

"This is Mr Siger Holmes" Mycroft began calmly "former owner of the Delaware estate and, our father. I am sorry Sherlock" he continued "I had no idea he was coming round right now" Sherlock said nothing but sat, calming his breathing with his eyes shut. "John knows, I have told him everything"

Sherlock snapped his eyes open and looked across the room at his friend. He wanted so much to speak to him, to tell him he was sorry, that he had kept away for Hannah's sake and that he missed him but he knew Hannah had asked him not too, he closed his mouth in silent frustration

"I also know about you and Hannah" John said quietly. Sherlock's dad and brother turned to Sherlock in amazement, reasoning the wrong meaning to the words. John quickly saw his mistake

"No, no I mean that you went to speak to her about me, please don't think that they, no, no, look can we talk in private Sherlock" Sherlock nodded and stood from the chair but was stopped and pushed back down again by his brother

"No, not yet, we have to get this sorted, I have an important appointment this afternoon and I cannot wait while you too have a heart to heart apology session"

"Nice to know I'm so high on you priority list" Sherlock said with a half smile. "Please feel free to attend your meeting but if you are waiting for me to talk to him then you are wasting your time" Sherlock stared defiantly at his brother from the chair.

"No" Mycroft answered, resuming his own seat "it is myself and the man on the carpet who owe you an apology, I am sorry"

"You are joking me now" Siger Holmes cut in with a incredulous snort, "don't tell me that you think he was actually telling the truth about all that stuff, he's a lying little shit and he always will be. I read about it in the papers some years back, wasn't he creating crimes for himself to solve"

It was Johns turn to be restrained now as the memories of those awful articles rushed back to his head. He gave Siger a black eye to go with his other injuries before Mycroft had him by the arms.

"John, John for goodness sake man" Mycroft shouted as he pulled him off his father and held him steady against the wall "let it go, this will solve nothing" he then turned around and walked over to his father. "I know he was telling the truth" he said quietly "and you know it too, look at him" he spat angrily, pointing at Sherlock "look at him and tell him now to his face that he lied about what you did"

Sherlock stood again, his face calm and composed. All trace of indifference and arrogance had been wiped from it, all that could be discerned from his placid expression was the glimmer of anticipation as he watched Siger sit, bleeding on his carpet.

"I don't care" he said finally, not taking his eyes off his father "I don't care what he says, whether he admits it or not" he paused as a fresh wave of emotions rose up inside him. He took a breath and pushed them away "I've washed my hands of you, now get out"

For a moment there was silence, all eyes were on Siger as he got, shakily up from the carpet, not knowing which man, if any, would strike him next.

"Whatever I did" he said quietly "however I treated you, it was nothing compared to suffering that is being endured right now. Whatever I put you through, you are at least not lying half dead in a hospital through this unknown poison, or screaming for mercy as you kill your friends. I have seen things these last few weeks that would really give you something to shoot people over. Weird, terrible things and I know they are related. But I cant prove it or even explain it. There's only one man who can and he can't even keep it together long enough to hold a conversation. I thought you were stronger than this" as he spoke he kept his eyes on Sherlock, who returned his glare. When he finished his story, Siger shook his head and turned to leave. In an instant Mycroft was holding him by the arm and stared straight into his eyes.

"So you admit it then" he asked evenly "you beat your son, locked him in the boot for three days and turned his whole family against him for a tart you don't even remember"

"I admit it" Siger replied shakily.

For the first time in a long time, Sherlock was proved to be right. He had convinced himself that it wouldn't matter whether or not his father admitted what he had done, but hearing it now, he knew it did. He could feel powerful emotions on such an intense and dramatic scale that he knew he could not suppress them any longer. Without a word he pushed past the other men in his living room and escaped to his own room at the back of the house. There he simply let it all come out. Torrents of rage and hurt spilled from him in angry, uncontrollable cries and shouts. He had never cared what anyone thought and now he cared even less. For twenty minutes he let his body be racked with emotions he could not control and hurt he could not even explain before finally he lay on his bed and began, once again to close off each emotional door that had been burst through.

The sounds that came from Sherlock's bedroom were unbearable, John looked over at the other two Holmes' and saw the pain in their own eyes. He crossed the room and flicked the radio on. The music was appalling but better than the current noise that filled the flat. To John it made little sense initially. He was sure Sherlock had suffered worse than this and had not been affected in such a way before. But as the minutes passed and John could not nothing but wait he began to pick apart the reasoning behind the bizarre emotional display. Sherlock had been young, things were bound to affect him more then. He had had a girl friend, or at least something along those lines and so had been betrayed. Betrayed by his own father. Did Sherlock see this as any different to anyone else? But maybe he had when he was younger, John reasoned. He knew he had been hurt by his own father, something that wouldn't have hurt if he had not respected him so much. And Sherlock had not dealt with any of this at the time, these were stale, abandoned memories and feelings. John was able to see just why this was so hard for Sherlock. After half an hour of radio talk and music the noise was cut abruptly. John turned to see Sherlock standing, plug in hand in the doorway.

"That's quite enough of that" he said curtly. "now then Siger" he continued coolly sitting once again in his chair "Tell me about these things you have seen, and we'll see what we can do"


End file.
